My sister, Joan and I have been walking in the November rain of late and even though I like the feel of the cold rain on my face, the surroundings sometimes look a little desolate. Robert Frost now has me seeing with new eyes.
My November Guest
My Sorrow, when she’s here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture Lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She’s glad the birds have gone away,
She’s glad her simple worsted grey
Is silver now with clinging mist.
The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eyes for these,
And vexes me for reasons why.
Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.